The Brand
by Ighton
Summary: A Gilnean crime family has been in terrible shape recently. Follow the Brand on its road to recovery. Mostly OCs, based on events from Argent Dawn EU.
1. Act 1, Scene 1

I opened my eyes, grunting softly. A stinging pain ran along my back, and sweat dripped from my brow. I slowly became aware of my surroundings. A small, damp room, mostly dark, except for a small speck of light coming in from underneath the solid metal door.

I tried to move my limbs, slowly. It worked, although it was still somewhat painful. I hated the Light. Every last bit of it. But for now, there was nothing I could do.

Events slowly came back to me. There had been murders around the city. The guard force had been decimated. Before long, they stood on my doorstep and took me away with force. I wonder if Damon was in here too. Probably not, he was way too elusive to ever get caught. Besides, they suspected me, not him.

If that was the case, I'd be out here soon enough. He had his people around this city, and he wouldn't hesitate to use them to get his brother out of jail. A somewhat shameful display, admittedly, but that was something to worry about later. For now, I needed a plan to get out of here, if Damon wasn't coming to get me. Wouldn't put it past him, honestly. He never liked me much.

I always thought ours was the only case where the younger brother bullied the older, instead of the other way around. Nonetheless, I always had faith in him, as weird as that sounds.

I inspected the room. A bed, if you could it that, a small end table and something that was supposed to be a toilet, I figured. It's not like I could blame them, the guards had always been cutting corners when it came to inmate quality of life.

They said they didn't have enough money, that the king wasn't paying them enough. I say they had plenty, but decided to stuff their own pockets. No one batted an eye, of course, the guards were power-hungry and corrupt, and if anyone dare say something they'd be locked up, surely. The King didn't care either, why would he be interested in the lives of lowly peasants?

I sat down on the bed, my mass resting on the half-filled mattress. It wasn't that bad, I'd decided, and placed myself flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling. It'd be something I'd seen plenty of times, and will see plenty more times to come.

I always enjoyed learning the intricacies of the ceilings. I'd lay on my bed, and inspect them. Each cell had a slightly different ceiling, different grooves and marks, and the brickwork was always slightly off too, like the architect couldn't quite figure out what design he liked, so he went with all of them.

Just as I closed my eyes, putting my thoughts to rest, I heard footsteps. One, no… two pairs. A light tread, soft and elegant, and something more loud, a metallic sound. It was clear that the latter was a guard, and the former anything but that. A visitor perhaps, or a lawyer. Whatever it was, I wouldn't find out. There was a thick metal door blocking me from the outside world, and it only opened for a couple minutes a day. For now, I'd best close my eyes again. Nothing was going to happen for a while anyways.


	2. Act 1, Scene 2

Damon sighed deeply as he closed the door. Anthony was stuck in jail, again, he'd been told. There'd been guards around the shop, looking for evidence. Although they turned the entire store upside down, they couldn't find any. Damon was smarter than that. "Nothing should be in the shops that can be used against you", he always said. Besides, Anthony had done nothing, they weren't going to find what they were after no matter how hard they looked.

He looked around, inspecting the shop. Though there was no one around, the interior looked like a battlefield. Weapons and tools were spread around the store, boxes and crates had been turned upside down, and the store had been left in a general mess.

A cold breeze ran along Damon's back. He turned around, and noticed the door that was behind him was still open. The guards had left in such a hurry, they hadn't even bothered to close the door.

It'd take him the rest of the evening to clean it all up, and it didn't look like any of his employees were going to come over to help.

"They were useless anyways", he thought. "If it wasn't for me, this whole place would've burnt to the ground a long time ago". He got up, grabbed a sword from the ground, and inspected it. It wasn't too battered, and the metal felt chilly when he touched it. He put it back on one of the weapon racks near the entrance to the store, and sighed again. It'd be a long evening. He'd have to see Anthony tomorrow.


	3. Act 1, Scene 3

I closed my eyes once more, but the jiggling of keys made me jump up as soon as I laid down. The walking stopped, and I could clearly make out the sound of keys being inserted into a door. My door, for that matter.

I sat up, and rubbed my face with my hands. I hadn't washed in days, and a body like mine just requires maintenance. So much for a good first impression.

A guard stood in the door frame. He was clad in shining armour, the coat of arms of the Alliance on his tabard. Our gazes met briefly, and though it was only for a few moments, it felt like ages. He finally spoke.

"Your brother's here. You know the deal". The stern voice of the guard resonated within the small confines of the cell.

I nodded. If Damon was here, I'd be out in no time. At least, that's how it'd gone all the other times.

The guard stepped away, back into the hallway, and from behind the wall, Damon appeared. There he was. A tall, tough man, much like myself. His charcoal-black hair was particularly rough today, like he'd been under a lot of stress lately. I can't blame him, we all have been. His complex face frowned at me. He sat down on the bed besides me, since there wasn't much room elsewhere. He sighed, then turned to face me.

"This is the second time this month", he spoke.

"I know"

"The Family has been down lately. We don't need this on top of it.", he continued.

I nodded once more.

"I've paid you bail, you may leave. Come with me, we'll get a drink at the pub and we'll talk this over. They've no evidence anyways."

The guards had always been on our backs. Hardly surprising, we'd done a few things in our time, but often, they were just doing it to bother us. Apart from running a shop, we didn't do much. Not anymore.

"How do you suppose we continue?", I asked.

"With a good pint of Dwarven Ale and a chat", Damon replied. He got up and waved his hand at me, motioning for me to follow him. Hesitantly I stood up and made my way out of the cell, nodding at the guard stationed at the door.

"You know where your stuff is?", the guard inquired.

"In the usual spot, officer", I answered. I responded politely, not because I am, but rather because I'd not get myself in too much trouble. Damon was right, the Family had been down lately and we couldn't afford blows like this.

Damon pat me on the back as we came up the stairs, and we went our separate ways. I made my way to the lockers, where my clothes were being stored, and Damon wandered off towards the exit. "Thanks", I thought to myself, but of course I wouldn't say it. That's not how we operate.


	4. Act 1, Scene 4

As soon as I got my belongings back, I started making my way over to the tavern.

I didn't look particularly great, and my clothes were dirty as well. Not that it mattered, the Pig and Whistle tavern didn't have a reputation as a classy lounge.

No, the Pig, as it was often called, was located slap-bang in the middle of the Old Town district, and anyone who ever visited Stormwind knew that that part of town had a reputation for being host to less-than-honorable citizens. It was for that reason, that we spent time there as much as we did.

It was only a short walk to the Pig. I knew my way around perfectly. Like so many other crooks, thieves and mercenaries, I called Old Town my home. It's where our shop was, and it's where I spent most of my time.

Our shop, Honest Blades, was located right next to the Pig. A convenient location, as it meant that we had quite a bit of visibility.

As I passed it, I looked inside. Closed. Damon must've done it for a reason, as usually we're open in the morning. Strolling past it, the scent of ale started to enter my nostrils.

There it was, the large wooden shack that was host to the dirtiest, cheapest inn in the city. I took out my pocket watch. 11 A.M, it said, and for a morning, it was definitely busy.

They hardly served coffee or tea, so anyone that was present had already hit the booze.

As I entered, I took a look around. There were the regulars, I knew them by name at this point. If you didn't know any better, you'd say these guys lived in this place.

Damon would probably be sat upstairs, in our usual spot. There were several individuals whom I didn't recognize, one of them being a man, completely dressed in black. Though his face was visible, it was largely covered by a big black fedora, and he seemed to make a good effort to hide his appearance. I took note of him, and made my way upstairs.

Damon was indeed already there, no drinks on the table though, which was odd for him. I walked up to him, gave him a glance, and sat down opposite him.

He appeared to not take notice of me, his head was bent down, as if he was inspecting the floorboards.

I coughed awkwardly, and his head shot up.

"Huh, who, wha'?" Damon said, clearly bewildered. "Ah, you're here…"

"I didn't know you took an interest in carpentry all of sudden", I remarked sneeringly

"Oh fuck off, I barely had any sleep thanks to you." Damon's surprise turned into irritation. He wasn't lying, anyone could tell he had had a bad night.

"Good morning to you, too.", I replied

"Fuck off. Those guards turned the entire store into a wreckage. There were weapons everywhere. I spent half the night cleaning the bloody mess up, then I had to wake up at the brink of dawn to bail your sorry ass out of jail."

"What about Adurean? Deiria? Where were they to help you? Anyone else?"

"Ad and Dei only show up once in a blue moon, and I'm pretty sure there's no one else left at this point"

I sighed. If even Ad and Dei were starting to show up less and less, that means we might just fall soon.

"We need to get all of us together. Make a plan. Any idea where they are?"

Damon ran his hand along the stubble on his chin. "Good question."

"As you'd expect."

"Hmph. Adurean is probably laying low for a bit. I heard a large amount of his men got killed for whatever reason."

"What about Deiria?"

"Last I heard she's in Darkshire with the Coven. She'll be heading home soon, I believe. Adurean should still be in town"

"Good, at least we know where they are. Get them together, and we'll make plans", I suggested.

"That sounds like our best option now. In the meantime, we'd best lay low too, and just work on getting our front fixed."

Damon got up from his seat, rather unexpectedly. "Don't disappoint me, Anthony. We need to pull it together".

Before I had time to respond, Damon turned and left. It was now or never, I thought, and although Damon had been acting strangely, we couldn't let the family fall. If Ad and Dei were still here, we might have a chance. Otherwise, I'd best start looking for a new job.


	5. Act 1, Scene 5

It was three days later that we all gathered inside Honest Blades to discuss the future of the Brand. We all sat on wooden chairs, which had been pulled out of some dusty attic by Damon.

We were set up in a circle, in the middle of the shop, surrounded by product. I was sitting with my back to the door.

Directly opposite me was Adurean, the commander of the family. He led the guards, thugs and mercenaries of the family. Or at least, that was supposed to be his job, if we had any.

Adurean had a stern look on his face, and his rugged hair and menacing grin turned him into quite an intimidation.

A Gilnean like both of us, Damon had felt a deep connection with him as soon as he met him. He'd worked with Damon on several jobs before the Family, and he rarely disappoints with his army of mercenaries.

To my right was Deiria, the Raven Mother. A skilled magic user, she lead a coven of witches, alchemists and warlocks. They were our magical department, and their alchemists knew their way around some felweed.

Although Deiria was Human, she was born in Lakeshire, and therefor wasn't a Gilnean. That said, although our family had Gilnean origins, any skilled crook, thief, or swindler was welcome here, as long as they knew their place.

Like Ad, Deiria definitely knew her place and what we expected of her, and over the years, she'd proved herself to the Family, earning her a place as our Coven Leader.

I was in charge of the thieves, crooks, and burglars of the Family. That meant I was in charge of intel, all of our jobs, and on top of that I also did our Finances and PR. If one of our guys got caught, I'd have to clean up the mess, or at least, have someone do it for me.

Although I was technically a superior to Adurean and Deiria, it never really showed, since we all had our own area of expertise. Damon was the Godfather of the family. He bossed us around, and he was the one that got us our jobs in the first place. He'd make contacts with groups of mercenaries, warlords, drug cartels. You name it, Damon knew someone who was in one.

There was one empty chair to my left, next to Adurean. It was Damon's spot, who was currently stood facing an opened cupboard.

"Brandy or Whiskey?", he inquired, still facing towards the cupboard.

No response.

"Whiskey it is then", he added. He pulled a bottle out of the cupboard filled with a brown, slightly transparent liquid.

"Anyone? Or just me?"

"I'm good", Deiria responded

"I'm undead, remember?" I remarked sarcastically

"One for you Ad?", Damon asked.

"I'll have one, sure", he replied.

Damon took two drinking glasses out of the cupboard, closed it, then filled the two glasses with Whiskey. He came over to our little circle, and handed one of the glasses to Adurean.

"You all know why we're here", he started.

The three of us gave Damon all our attention. Ad was leaning forward in his seat, and I'm pretty sure I could physically see Deiria's ears focusing.

"I've drawn up a crude plan to save this mess, and tonight we're going to work it out, assign roles, and get this damn place off of the ground"

"Well, let's hear it then", Adurean remarked, taking a sip of his drink.

"I need you all to do something. Adurean, we're going to get you a few men, and you're going to train them to turn them into the deadliest squad on this side of the Maelstrom"

"Fair enough", he responded.

"Tony, I need you get the shop fixed, and get our name out their again. The Brand needs to be feared and understood, not a bunch of misfit merchants"

"I'll get on it", I responded

"Deiria."

"Wha'?"

"You're going to be running a drug cartel."

Silence.

Deiria didn't respond. No one responded.

The only thing entering our ears was the muffled sounds of the Pig and its patrons.

I stared at Damon, then at Deiria. Back at Damon.

"Can you do that?", he asked.

"I'm a witch, not some junkie of yours", she responded with a rasp in her voice.

The tension in the room rose. Deiria and Damon were staring each other down. He finally responded.

"That's why I picked you. You don't have an addictive nature. You're the creator, not the user."

She remained silent.

"On top of that, you're a great herbalist, and some of your alchemists might be able to help you too."

Still no answer from Deiria, or any indication that she was going to move at all.

Damon kept quiet. The staredown continued. Adurean coughed nervously, and the situation was awkward all around.

Finally, Damon gave.

"You also get 20% of all the income you generate", he mentioned.

"Twenty-five." She responded.

"Deal. But I expect results"

"You want it, you got it."

Adurean let out a sigh of relief as tensions in the room dropped.

"Anything else, Damon?", he asked.

"That was all. We will meet next week. Best of luck."


	6. Act 1, Scene 6

The next morning, after having a light breakfast, I made my way to the shop. My house was across the district, but it wasn't too bad of a walk. I arrived there at around 8AM, and we'd usually open around 9. That said, customers only trickled in throughout the day, and it was never particularly busy. That meant we had enough time to work on the unlawful side of the Family.

I walked past the Pig and Whistle tavern, and made my way towards Honest Blades. The streets were mostly empty, and even the Pig seemed mostly abandoned. I pulled the keychain from my belt and ran the cold, metal keys along my finger. When I'd found the right one, I held it out in my hand and inserted it into the lock. The door opened easily, revealing a dark interior with a quiet squeak.

I opened the windows to let some light in, and the dust out. Suddenly, swords, axes, guns and bows were revealed, all neatly placed in their racks. I left the door open, and walked towards the counter at the back of the shop. Pulling out the ledger, I started doing some work from yesterday, making sure our finances were up to scratch. The last thing we need is bankruptcy.

The first few hours were relatively boring. I made myself a cup of tea, and did some work cleaning up the shop. At about 10:30AM, Damon came walking into the shop.

"How's it going?", he asked

"Could be better, it's been quiet. Finances check out now, though", I responded.

"Good. I checked the roster. There's 7 of us."

"Ah?"

"Dei has two, an alchemist and a shadowmender. Ad has his bodyguard."

"That's all?"

"Ayup."

"Shame." My head hung low, feeling somewhat embarrassed.

"Anyways, I'll be upstairs. Shout if you need me". Damon changed the subject quickly.

"Will do.", I replied softly.

About half an hour later, a man came in to the shop. His grey eyes inspected the shop, glancing around at our wares. His blond hair was combed back neatly. He was wearing a cowl tucked around his neck, ready to be put on at any moment. On his back was a large hunting rifle, and he carried a small knife on his belt. His armour made a soft clacking sound as he approached the counter behind which I stood.

"Connington.", he spoke.

As I heard my name, billions of thoughts ran through my head. "How did he know who I was? Why was he here? If he knew my name, surely he knew about the family."

I stared up at him, attempting to keep my face straight.

"What?", I replied calmly.

"I need your help."

"With what?"

"I know the kind of business you guys run."

"Ah."

"You must've heard about the guards right"

I gave the man an annoyed glare. "Yeah… I heard."

"All me."

"Oh piss off."

"Hmm. How about this." The man pulled a badge out of his pocket, and placed it on the counter. I inspected it. It had the emblem of the Alliance on it, and the insignia of the Stormwind City Guard on it. I recognized the name on it. She had been killed days earlier, and they actually blamed me for her death.

"What dyeh want?"

"I need to stay low for a moment. You take care of me, I'll do some work for you in return"

"How do we know we can trust you, eh?"

"If I wanted you to stay in prison I could've given them the evidence.", he reminded me.

"Tell you what. I have some things I need taken care of. Do that, and we won't rat you out."

"You don't really give me any choice, do you?"

"What's your name?"

"Kieran Grayson", he replied.

"Good, Grayson. Go talk to Damon, he's upstairs. He'll tell you what to do."

Kieran nodded at me. "Thanks, Anthony."

I grumbled back at him. "Just get it done."


End file.
